The Baker Street Boys
by izzybizzy333
Summary: Continuing from the ending of S4E3. A story where John and Sherlock live, work, and raise Rosie, together again at 221B. No Romance, just good old fashioned happy fluff drabbles about their lives. (Also some that are not so happy). Focused around character development and interesting moments in their lives.
1. Chapter 1

The Baker Street Boys

Summary: Continuing from the ending of S4E3 where John and Sherlock live, work, and raise Rosie together again at 221B. No Romance, just good old fashioned happy fluff drabbles about their lives.

John and Rosie moved in the week after the flat was finished. He had dithered for a while, thinking he'd want to have a separate life, but it just wasn't going to work. They needed each other. Mary had known that. Now, after everything, he knew that too.

Plus, it was cheaper to share the flat and, in all honesty, it was still painful to live in that house. Their house. Sometimes he'd glance in the kitchen, and still see her there, floating on the edges.

So he'd packed it all up, with the help of some eerily efficient men Mycroft had sent to help (Mycroft seemed quite eager for him to move back), looked back at the house one more time, then quietly shut the door on that life and moved back to where it all began.

It was a lot easier to readjust to life at 221B than he'd thought it would be. It was almost too easy to fall into this new life with Sherlock and Rosie, so easy that he'd sometimes feel guilty. But then he'd remember Mary; her videos, her encouragement, her love for them all, and feel sure that it was what she would have wanted. Her Baker Street boys together, caring for each other and Rosie.

Sherlock, for his part, seemed to really be trying. Bless him, he'd tried to babyproof the apartment, putting those ridiculous locks on all the cabinets, hiding his various acids, and getting most of the knives up high. But when John asked him why he had left rotting toes on the table, Sherlock hadn't seemed to understand the problem, cocking his head to the side and looking at him quizzically.

"Well, obviously, John, she won't be able to get up there … Right? I mean the average human child at 8 months of age..."

John just huff-laughed at him while he threw the toes away and Sherlock pouted behind him.

Soon enough Sherlock came to deeply understand that children (especially one as smart and talented as Rosie, if John did say so himself), could and would get everywhere their little hearts desired if not constantly watched and cared for. They needed to be constantly entertained, except when asleep, which didn't happen nearly enough, meaning that they as caregivers didn't get nearly enough sleep either. Surprising everyone, himself included, Sherlock rose to the task. He would talk to her for hours, bouncing her up and down on his hip, or lulling her back to sleep by discussing the various types of tobacco ash. He'd set her down on a blanket in the middle of the living room, playing with the rattle ("I'm not playing, I'm helping to stimulate her hand-eye coordination, John.") while he made deductions or insulted the intelligence of the police force.

Sometimes when working through a case, he'd explain it out to her step by step as he had so many times with her father and when he'd finally make that all important conclusion or connection he'd exclaim;

"Of course Little Watson! Why didn't I think of that? Very astute reasoning Rosie."

He'd wink at her while she laughed and laughed, almost seeming to understand him.

At a certain point, neither John nor Sherlock could imagine any any other way; living with their best friend, solving mysteries, and raising the most delightful, precocious child either of them had met. The Baker Street boys were back, and they were truly happy. For now...

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I wrote this because I needed some happy fluff after Season 4 and I just really wanted to see Sherlock and John trying to raise Rosie at 221B which seemed suggested by the end of the last episode (or at least I like to hope). So it'll be a lot of Daddylock, but no real romance, just happy family time. It'll be drabbles from all kind of different ages and times. I'll update as I have ideas and thoughts, which you're welcome to pitch in with. Thanks again!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

When Rosie was five, she learned how to hold and shoot a gun.

One of the criminals had thought it a good idea to kidnap her as collateral while he arranged to get out of the country. This was almost a fatal mistake. Beyond anything else in his miserable life, this was his biggest, most disastrous mistake.

He was detected within an hour and when the police found him he was quickly rushed to the emergency room. Many of the doctors and detectives described it as one of the most gruesome things they'd ever seen. Yet, no one was ever charged for the assault, though the man himself often tried to press charges. No lawyer, policeman, or doctor would even meet with him, and when he tried to access his paperwork himself, somehow all trace of it had disappeared. However, he only understood the true depths of his mistake when one day in prison he was visited (his only visitor, ever) by a man calling himself Uncle Mycroft.

As for the family in 221B, justice was not enough to satisfy the fear. That night of her being kidnapped, Rosie sat at the door listening to the two men she loved most in the world fight harder than she'd ever heard before. They'd put her to bed together, speaking calming words and telling her favorite stories, and Sherlock- Daddy- had even played his most calming violin sonata from downstairs for a full half hour after she was supposed to be asleep, but she'd gotten up just as soon as she heard them start talking.

"No, Sherlock. NO. She's not SAFE here! How can we- How can she- How can I- I-"

"Breathe John. John, breathe."

Rosie got scared as the silence seemed to grow louder and louder; she leaned closer to the door and still almost missed it when Dad- John- started talking again, well, whispering really.

"Sherlock, I can't lose her. Not after… I just can't lose her. Not to this. Not to… us. If she's going to be unsafe, even if I love it, I can't stay here. We can't stay here."

She could hear, almost see, Daddy sigh.

"I can't lose her either, John. And I certainly can't lose you both. You are… my… my family. We must do what it takes to protect her…. Mycroft has a few estates in the country that we could use-"

Rosie almost gasped audibly. Leave London!?

Dad seemed to have the same reaction.

"Wait, you're saying we should move? All of us? Not just-"

"Of course John, keep up. Goodness, I can't wait until Rosie is fully mentally functioning. It'll be so good to have someone smart to talk to."

Silence for a beat.

"Ah, so she's listening then?"

"Quite so."

Before she could register what she'd just heard and scramble away, the door swung wide and she was swooped up in Daddy's arms, crushed between him and Dad.

Even though she'd just been found out, she felt much safer here between the men who loved her best in the world.

She had an opinion on all this and she was upset about being seen, but right then she was a little girl who had had a monumentally bad day. She threw her arms around her Daddy's neck and nestled into the space between his arm and torso, hiding her face and drinking his smell in.

This effectively silenced the reproach he'd been about to give her, and John watched as Sherlock's face unfolded with wonder at her unadulterated love and affection, even after 4 years of helping raise her. Sherlock stood there for a moment in awe, but a five year old was heavy even for his wiry strength and he quickly walked back to his chair, falling into it in until she was curled in his lap and he quietly held her close to him until she meekly uncurled and could be seen by both of them.

John was not jealous; he received just as many hugs as Sherlock did, and he knew that, after today, Sherlock needed the love as much as she did. But John was worried about her, and it showed. Before he could say anything, she launched into her own speech.

"I don't want to leave. I love it here. Besides, research shows that changing school districts at such a critcal [critical in non-five year old speech] time could be damaging to my social growth-"

John cut her off with an amused but concerned air, reaching out to hold her feet and tickle them a bit, almost making her giggle as she tried to stay stern and serious.

"Rosie, it's not just about where we want to live. It's about safety. Sherlock and I will always try to make sure you are safe, and today you really really weren't. We're not okay with that."

She sat straight up in consternation at this, instead of snuggling into Sherlock as she had been and exclaimed;

"Well, that doesn't mean there aren't ways I can be safer here! Bad guys can find us anywhere! I know Daddy's karate [her term for Sherlock's self-defense methods he'd been teaching her as soon as she could do more than wave around] but if I could shoot a gun like Dad, or if Uncle Mycroft was allowed to have cameras, or if we had bodyguards, plus I could, like, swallow a tracker or something, and I could get a great big dog named Rufus and we'd train him to eat bad guy's faces…."

They listened to her ideas patiently and started to see that there were parts of some that might not be entirely without merit. Later that night, after they were sure she was actually asleep, they sat and compared notes. Sherlock was actually the one to give credence to the gun idea. John did not respond to this idea enthusiastically.

"What!? We can't give a gun to a five year old! Are you insane!? What am I saying, of course you are, you great bloody-"

Sherlock cut him off curtly. "Of course I'm not suggesting we just give her a gun, John. I'm a sociopath, not a psychopath. I'm proposing we teach her how to use one. If she's in a bad situation and sees one, I'd want her to know how to use it and not hurt herself."

"Sherlock, the whole idea is that she not get into those situations in the first place!"

"Yes, of course John, which is why, per her suggestion, _Uncle_ Mycroft will be allowed cameras." He said serenely, while his friend responded to this with bewilderment.

"But Sherlock, you hate him and all his goons watching us!"

"Viscerally, yes." Sherlock responded calmly.

"But then why….?"

"Because I…. Because you and she must be safe and despite his many failings, Mycroft is remarkably gifted at keeping people and countries relatively safe. Except for me, but I am, as always, an exception."

"Sherlock, I…."

But Sherlock waved off his friend's concern and sent a quick text to his brother, followed by an almost immediate response.

"Mycroft says a team will be here tomorrow at 8 and, like the prick he is, thought it necessary to mention that we should have let him do this years ago. The team is a pretense only, really. I'm sure he has many cameras here already; I haven't swept the apartment for bugs in days at least."

"Tosser." John responded amicably, smirking.

Sherlock smirked back.

"Quite."

They sat in their chairs, smiling at each other for few quiet moments, silently acknowledging that they were no longer fighting.

"And the dog?" John asked.

"Ah. Not a terrible idea, for crime solving, companionship, and whatnot, but taking care of another living being… Plus, now that I know that I've never actually had a dog… Maybe when we're older and Rosie's outgrown us?"

"Well, at least not right now, huh?"

"Exactly."

John smiled at him knowingly,

"Sounds good to me."

So, later that week, they took Rosie to a shooting range arranged by Mycroft (John's idea- Sherlock thought the wallpaper target practice enough) and despite the strange looks from the various agents, taught their five year old charge to hold and shoot a gun.

Unsurprisingly, she was really quite good at it.

Author's Note: Sherlock is Daddy and John is Dad. Sherlock hates that he has the "sillier" name, but also secretly loves it. How they got these names will be covered in later chapters. Also, in the last chapter I used the term "Little Watson" when Sherlock was addressing Rosie- this was not my idea- I got it from a different author's story whose name escapes me now, but I just wanted to give credit. I loved the phrase, so I stole it, but as soon as I find the story again, I'll ask permission. Just wanted to give you all a heads up. I'm not as clever as I look ;)


	3. Snuggle Attacks Are A Scary Thing

Chap. 3: "Snuggle Attacks are a scary thing"

The whole affair began with giggles. Sherlock heard giggling from upstairs, but then it was cut sharply short, like Rosie (the only one upstairs with a voice pitch high enough) was trying to hide her giggles. Sherlock cocked his head to one side, considering. Then he smirked.

John was supposed to be giving 3 year old Rosie a bath and putting her down for a nap. For some reason, this process always seemed to include a good deal of giggling, even when he administered the bath. Naturally he didn't participate in the needless merriment- much. But today she had demanded John, though Sherlock undeniably did better Mr. Ducky impersonations. (The name was not his idea- he had suggested the noble name Sir Reginald Selleski in honor of the infamous water-gliding sneakthief). However, she had been very set on John on rendering the bath, saying, with a mischievous sparkle in her eye, that she had a _plan_.

It did not take the full extent of Sherlock's deductive powers to conclude that this plan was now in effect. The not-so surreptitious giggling must be the first part of her highly anticipated plan. Well, as a detective, he must, by all means, investigate. Just before starting up the stairs, he had a thought and turned back, smirking.

When he finally made it up the stairs, it was as the fully Hatted Sherlock Holmes. He did, in all honesty, love this. Being Sherlock Holmes. A happy Sherlock Holmes. Even with its emotionally and physically taxing aspects, he genuinely enjoyed helping raise and guide such an intelligent young mind. It almost seemed too perfect some days, living with his best friend, solving crimes and helping him to raise such a delightful youth. Then he would remember Mary and the shooting and- It had come at such a high cost, but he knew Mary would be glad they were happy. And at least this way he could do something with that life she had put so much (too much-he thought) value on: give it back to her daughter and her husband.

He darted around the corner into the bathroom, expecting to see them but surprised to see that there was no one there. Based on the acoustic reverberation of the giggles…. Her bath had been finished and they had left approximately 7.4 minutes before. They weren't in Rosie's room either, nor in John's. They had left music playing in Rosie's room, but the slight indentations in the carpet showed that they had left in a hurry… His mind going a mile a minute, Sherlock couldn't deny that he was starting to get just the littlest worried. Don't be ridiculous, he told himself, the carpet pattern doesn't indicate high levels of anxiety. Just because that gang enforcer got away last week doesn't mean-

Suddenly a high voice emitted a war cry (emanating from the hall closet, his mind idly notes) , disturbing his deductions/worries, and abruptly assailing his person while yelling:

"SNUGGLE ATTACK!"

* * *

"Sherlock, I'm so sorry."

A sigh from John after his pronouncement of apology.

"I should have known better. I just got caught up in the moment- she's just starting to make plans and I was just trying to- Never mind. I'm really very sorry Sherlock…... Ugh, I _know_ better than that!"

John paced in front of their chairs, upset at himself. With Rosie now down for her nap, though she had been bewildered and upset by Sherlock's response, John felt the need to explain what had happened. Sherlock himself was almost as uncomfortable with John's remorse as he had been at the unexpected and overwhelming assault on his person, even such an undeniably cute one.

"John, stop apologizing. I'm obviously fine. It was… Clearly, for most others it would have been a wonderful surprise, and it is my own limitations that keep me from appreciating it as such, not your own. It is just a matter of preparing myself-"

John bowed his head, more ashamed than ever. Sherlock had done what he always did when he was uncomfortable; cut himself off and retreated to logic. John knew then that he had really messed up.

"Yeah, I know Sherlock. I'm really quite sorry. And you are NOT limited Sherlock, just… different. And we lo- really appreciate that about you, Rosie and I. Next time she wants to do something like that, I'll check with you first, alright? And I'll make sure to explain to her that not everyone likes being touched without warning, that it's important to always ask for permission. The fact that I didn't already reflects on me, not you."

John sighed, looking down and trying to moving past Sherlock to sit down at the table to work on something- probably looking sadly at the screen and missing Mary while he pretended to work on his blog. As he moved past Sherlock, Sherlock grabbed his wrist, his fingers neatly around John's small wrist, and his head down, not looking at John.

"John, I- I am sorry that I'm not- This is not your fault- To anyone else… [sigh]. It was a wonderful thought." Sherlock hoped his friend would understand all he wasn't able to say. Instead, John stiffened and started to look upset, angry even. Sherlock was sure he had messed up yet again, saying exactly the wrong thing. However, true to form, John had not only understood what Sherlock was _trying_ to say, he understood more about Sherlock than even Sherlock himself did.

"Sherlock, dammit! We've been through so much together and you think I'd just- I mean, I even trust you with Rosie! I would _literally_ follow you off a cliff. We've been friends, brothers in arms, all that for this long, and you honestly _still_ believe that I want you to change? For being the smartest man I know, you sure are thick headed." John laughed at the ridiculousness of this, shaking his head in exasperation.

"Sherlock, I _know_ you, and if I had thought about it for more than a second, I would have realized it was a bad plan. That's why I'm mad- at myself, not you. Not at my inability to _deal_ with you, but my lack of thoughtfulness towards you. I  get that touch is difficult sometimes and that you need some warning. It's _you_ , part of who you are and how you move through the world. Of course it's too much sometimes, with that giant brain of yours, of course it would be you punctilious twat. So don't you dare keep apologizing for that, okay? You're my best friend, my best man. Even though you're a real blighter sometimes, I wouldn't want you to pretend with me like you do with others. Never that, okay? Just.. be yourself and trust that that's an okay thing to be. Except of course when you're a blighter, in which case, I'll give you a heads up, yeah?"

Throughout this speech, John had looked squarely at Sherlock and though he struggled sometimes with the emotional bits, it was clear to Sherlock that he meant every part of it. And Sherlock was speechless. As ever, John had managed to surprise him. In one of Sherlock's characteristically quickfire deductions, he realized that John had indeed known, always being respectful of Sherlock's space, understanding the importance of a touch, rarely making fun of his silk clothing because he must have understood that they were soft enough to not sap his energy… John had understood that just because Sherlock did not hug him or show physical affection did not mean he did not care. Sherlock underestimated John's intelligence continually, but this was a man who had qualified for and graduated from Medical school and all that entailed. And a man who had decided not to get rich from it. He had an emotional and social intelligence that Sherlock relied upon far more than he even realized. How incredible...

"Sherlock? Can you let me go before you scrub my emotional outburst from your memory palace? I think I hear Rosie stirring..."

Swiftly, Sherlock let go of John and did what he knew would matter the most. He braced himself, stood, and hugged John Watson. Immediately, despite his surprise, John hugged him back, tightly and briefly, letting his head rest fleetingly on his friend's shoulder before stepping back and letting Sherlock compose himself again.

They smiled at each other for a moment, knowing the incident was in the past. John went to go check on Rosie and Sherlock went back to his chair, feeling more at ease than ever.

Author's Note: Sorry that I didn't update till now. I was doing a rewatch to be sure that I was getting their characters right, and a new semester started for me, so there is much to be done. Thank you to everyone who left a review; that's what encouraged me to get it done! Just a note on characterization; my interpretation of Sherlock is that he is not a sociopath, but rather that he has Asperger's. If you look it up, he has almost textbook signs, and one of the most common aspects is discomfort about touch. John even references his low key diagnosis of this in the Baskerville episode when talking to Lestrade. Anyhoo, I think that next chapter will be a cute one and then some more emotional wumph. Let me know if that's cool with you and have a wonderful rest of your reading.


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